RoH 16

We Are Star-Met

Stardate 2260.253, 0800 hours, Deck 5, First Officer’s Cabin

Jim woke with a hard-on, pressed against his lover’s ass, clinging to his hot skin. He knew Spock was awake, had probably been awake for hours. Not just because that was a Vulcan thing – Vulcan biology 101: Vulcans didn’t need as much sleep as Humans did – but because he felt Spock’s wakefulness in his mind. He was able to sense as much, but he was unable to do anything about it. Irritating. The sensation was similar to whatever remained in his mind from the meld with old Spock. Stronger, though, not as painful and much more distinct. He wondered at the similarity. Hmm. Well, their minds must be almost identical. After all, they were both Spock, give or take a century, a life, a universe.

And speaking of minds … if he had to lie awake for hours with nothing to do, he’d be absolutely bored out of the same. There was almost nothing he hated more than being bored. (Except possibly being dead, and that only in advance and retrospect, because actually being dead, well, nothing to it. Which of course was the whole point.) He straightened and pressed a kiss between Spock’s shoulders. “Y’know, you don’t have to stay in bed just because I’m still asleep.”

Spock turned around. His fine black hair was just a little tousled, the most beautiful hint of a bedhead Jim had ever seen. He looked at Jim intently, eyes huge and so damn gorgeous. Jim swallowed hard. To have Spock here with him. Suddenly he wanted Spock so much it hurt. An ache in his bones, that kind of wanting. That deep. As if it had been there even before he was born. He liked it though. It was without doubt one of his happiest thoughts ever. And that? So weird.

“Happiness is weird,” he declared, perhaps abruptly, but still a perfectly logical conclusion to his reflections. “You know? Most of what I remember in terms of happy? If I mentioned some of those things to anyone but Guinan or Bones, it wouldn’t be real good for my career.”

Much like Guinan, Spock didn’t ask questions. But Jim wanted to answer them anyway. Perhaps one day words wouldn’t be necessary between them anymore. For the time being, though, words remained important. To make sense of themselves and what they shared. Damn, I’ll pass my next psych eval with flying colors, Jim thought with a grin.

“Driving a car over a cliff when I was twelve,” Jim said, “One of the best moments of my childhood. I even wrote a holo-scenario about it this year. When I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore after a Spice trip. I think I was seventeen then. I remember because things got better afterwards. Getting beat up by no less than four Starfleet cadets. (Five, if you count Uhura, and you totally should because she throws a really mean right hook.) That was a good fight. Bones offering me booze in the shuttle. Even though he ended up puking all over me. When I upchucked after the Kobayashi Maru.”

Sobering, he added, “Some saner stuff, too, though. Center chair, of course. Having that commendation stuck to my uniform top. D’you know, the first attempt, he actually stabbed my nipple? I think there’s still a scar. When I was told Pike would live. Thank bog Khan managed to warn me about that damn bomb just in time. Finding Jo in the reading fort.” A deep, deep breath, inhaling the scent of Vulcan-hot skin and the crisp, neutral smell of freshly laundered standard Starfleet bedclothes. It was kind of pathetic how he’d had to work up to what he wanted to say. But that he had and that he could? That in itself made him happy all over again.

“You,” Jim said.

Finally a reaction. “Me?”

“Duh. Who am I Vulcan-married to? And don’t start on finicky translation issues now. Point is, you.” Jim thought of his happy Spock moments. Getting choked by Spock on the bridge. Not a happy moment in an entirely healthy way, Jim knew that. But it was. Heavy and hot and dangerous, but yeah, happy. Spock returning to the Enterprise at the very last moment, drama queen fashion, just to pull Jim’s pigtails. Spock not dying on Nibiru. Arguing in circles around Spock with Uhura in the shuttle. His death instead of Spock’s. Waking up in Starfleet Medical with Spock holding his hand. He realized he could add even more moments to his list by now. Until he couldn’t shake the feeling that happiness might make up a sizeable chunk of his life. And that? So weird.

“Happiness is a complex emotion,” Spock said softly, “in my studies I have come across many different definitions, psychological, philosophical, theological, none of them satisfactory.”

Jim hummed his agreement. Happiness was weird. “And your own?”

“I shall endeavor to formulate one,” Spock promised.

♦♦♦

Spock gazed at the Human resting his head on the pillow next to him. Those brilliant hazel eyes, that fierce smile, the puzzled frown. Spock thought his personal definition of happiness might be condensed into three letters.

“Bones said to lay off my ass for another day yet,” Jim remarked suddenly, a greedy, mischievous glint in his eyes. “If possible,” he added pointedly, squirming a little closer. “I understand if it’s impossible. Would even … appreciate it.”

“Most certainly not,” Spock said.

The conversation with Doctor McCoy, Doctor M’Benga and his brother had not been pleasant. He did not share the doctors’ optimism. He failed to understand his brother’s irreverent nonchalance; Jim’s willingness to submit to the humiliations of biological compulsions entirely alien to the human species shocked him.

“Oh, come on,” Jim complained. “I’m horny, and this is supposed to be our honeymoon.”

Jim surprised Spock with how effectively he pushed his feelings at him through the Bond – just how much he wanted Spock, now, right now, and how he didn’t mind a bit of pain, how much he trusted Spock, and how it wasn’t bad to be helpless with him, not at all—

“But I do not like that,” Spock whispered his reply, unable to keep his fear from bleeding across.

“Whoa, Spock …” Given how sore Jim still was, Spock was taken by surprise at how quickly and thoroughly he managed to wrap himself around Spock’s body. Although Jim’s skin was so much cooler than his own, Spock was warm. More than warm. But Spock was still too unsettled from cataloguing his reactions to the stimuli he had been exposed to during the conversation with the doctors and Sybok to let himself be distracted.

“Emotional control has never come easy to me,” Spock admitted. “But now I find that …” Now he knew why pon farr was so devastating. It was not so much the intensity of these passions that ripped away Vulcan control but their very nature. The impulses of the mating Bond belonged to an entirely different emotional system, to a different area of the brain, to a primitive response cycle, which translated emotion directly into action. “I failed to comprehend the complexity of the situation.”

“So you’re not perfect,” Jim said and pressed even closer, letting Spock feel his erection, his desire. “’s okay. You don’t have to be. Not for me. Because you already are.”

“That statement makes no sense whatsoever.”

Jim huffed a laugh into his skin, damp breath and hot, wet lips. The sensation should have been unpleasant, but went straight to his groin instead.

“So what did you figure out concerning your emotions?” Jim asked. Spock realized he had underestimated Jim’s capability for control and manipulation. How could Jim focus on their conversation in spite of his obvious arousal? And then he surprised Spock again by adding an explanation about just that: “It’s not that it doesn’t interfere with thinking. Lust, I mean. Feelings in general. But I guess the human brain’s pretty good at compromise that way. Or we’d have died out long ago. I mean, if we stopped thinking altogether as soon as emotions were involv—”

He broke off, startled at the wince Spock had been unable to suppress. “Okay, that’s enough,” Jim ordered. “You tell me what you’re so wound up over now.”

It was logical to share his thoughts with his Bondmate. It was beneficial. Shame was irrelevant. “You have been told that Vulcan feelings run more deeply than human ones. But that is beside the point. The nature and processes of Vulcan emotions are inherently different. And even that is, as the saying goes ‘just the tip of the iceberg’,” Spock replied. “The complexity of Vulcan emotional systems has eluded me so far. I can perceive them only now. Barely.”

“Because of the Bond,” Jim said, once again entirely too perceptive for a Human. “You weren’t Bonded before.” He fell silent and seemed to focus his attention on tactile explorations of Spock’s shoulders, throat, and collarbone, until he halted. “Oh. Systems. Dude, making me pay attention to grammar when I really just want to have sex is so unfair.” Yet he didn’t seem to mind. He drew back far enough to meet Spock’s eyes with a steady hazel-bright gaze. “So you’re freaking out because you already have trouble controlling your normal emotions and now you have to deal with a second set and …” Jim frowned. “So that’s why pon farr is such a killer, hmm? It doesn’t actually strip away your emotional controls. It switches off your normal emotional system.”

Spock couldn’t fathom the content curiosity he sensed from Jim. The way he was already directing his attention to Spock’s body again. In particular to Spock’s sheath and the way his penis reacted to Jim’s touch. “Hmm…” Jim sighed appreciatively. “So now that we’re Bonded you get aroused same as me?”

“No,” Spock replied, finding it hard to focus on Jim’s question with Jim’s finger tips trailing the most intimate parts of his body, “I have allowed my body to emulate your arousal. Without the Bond it would be difficult … almost impossible … for me. But without having undergone pon farr, I should not desire this.”

“But you do.”

“Yes,” Spock replied truthfully. “I do, very much.”

“Mhmmhmmm…” Jim sighed and pressed himself against Spock’s erection. “Maybe it’s the human bits in you? Or my nefarious influence.” He grinned smugly. “So since we’re not supposed to have intercourse again … Do you suppose a blow job falls within the parameters of passive behavior according to pon farr?”

Spock had absolutely no idea what to say, especially since the sensations Jim elicited with his touches were wreaking havoc with his already unbalanced brain.

“Probably not if I go down on you when you’re on your back,” Jim pondered aloud, unfazed by Spock’s lack of reaction. “But what if I’m on my knees in front of you and you just fuck my mouth?”

“Your single-mindedness is astonishing.”

Spock found himself unable to resist Jim as his lover pulled him up and to the side of the bed. Couldn’t move away when Jim settled on a pillow on the floor. Couldn’t withdraw from his touch when Jim interlaced their hands. Could only gasp for breath when Jim’s mouth closed around him, warm and wet and strangely wonderful.

His controls slipped. Need took over, pounding in his blood, driving his body into a mindless rhythm, into Jim’s fingers and mouth pulling at him, into pushing against Jim with his hands and his penis. Spock gave himself up to the see-saw of sensations, which usurped his sanity. Until his heartbeat stuttered in a frantic climax that made his stomach constrict. Until his orgasm sent his mind and seed spilling into his lover in helpless completion.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.253, 1300 hours, Deck 5, Captain’s Office

Lunch with Sulu had been Jim’s idea, of course. Spock had to admit, though, that it was a logical attempt to undertake. Not a complex social situation, but a short meeting, which would allow them to catch up on ship’s business. Doctor McCoy was going to be present, too. A solid, sensible step forward into what would be their new normalcy as Bonded couple in their position as command team.

McCoy arrived first, with updated diet forms for both of them, but mostly to remind Jim sternly that they were on medical leave and that their lunch with Sulu was neither a meeting nor a briefing. “Okay, Jim, so remember you’ll get just a short update. Bare bones. Some facts. That’s it. If you try to grill Sulu, I’m gonna throw him out. And then I’ll make sure no one talks to either of you until I declare you fit for duty again. Oh, and just to make myself perfectly clear? In that scenario ‘no one’ includes the computer. Gaila will make sure of that, too.”

Predictably – the statistical likelihood of that specific reaction was so close to 100% that Spock didn’t trouble himself with decimal points – Jim rolled his eyes and protested. “Bones. I don’t get why you’re mother-henning like that. We’re big boys here. We know we’re on medical leave. We’re taking it easy. No parties. No more shore leave. As soon as one of us feels woozy, we’ll go have a nap.”

He glanced at Spock, grinned, and licked his lips. “Naps are good.”

Spock wouldn’t have needed the Bond to realize where Jim’s thoughts were headed. But through their connection a shockingly graphic depiction smashed into him in a physically painful emotional transference. He froze, helpless, uncertain how to react.

To his intense discomfort, McCoy scrutinized him intently. Then the doctor grabbed Jim’s shoulder and turned him around with a jerk to face Spock. “That’s why,” McCoy told him.

The effect on Jim was immediate. He cringed, sending a sharp spike through the Bond. Spock never knew how he came to stand between Jim and Doctor McCoy, only that the doctor was suddenly in front of him and taking a very slow, cautious step backward.

Shame flooded Spock and tore at his already tenuous controls. In an effort to center himself, he pressed together his finger tips and slowed his breathing, inhaling deeply, into the k’rawhl. “I am sorry, Doctor,” he said softly. “Perhaps I should leave.”

McCoy watched him carefully for a minute or two. Then he shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Then he very deliberately pushed past Spock and slapped Jim on the upper arm. “You, neither, idiot.”

Spock did not miss how McCoy kept his eyes on him the whole time. “I assure you, Doctor, I have myself under control again.”

“Thought so.” McCoy smiled. “You’re doing well, Spock. But Jim? That right there is why you’re on medical leave for four weeks. You get upset, he gets upset. He gets upset, we don’t know what happens next. Got that? Seclusion after Bonding is normal for ordinary Vulcan couples, which you are most certainly not. Right now we’re at a stage of our mission where we can give you the time you need with no harm done. So you’ll damn well take it, all right?”

“Yes,” Jim said. “I … sorry.” Suddenly he was on his feet and leaning against Spock. He grasped his wrists, then slid his fingers upward until he could press cool palms against Spock’s hands. Love and contrition flowed into Spock. “I still like our naps, though,” he murmured, batting his eyelashes at Spock.

In response to the stimulus of Jim’s comment and the connected memories, Spock’s sympathetic nervous system responded with vasodilation, flooding the skin of his face with hot blood. “So do I,” he replied honestly.

Uncharacteristically, McCoy made no further remarks but instead busied himself with the replicator, consulting his PADD, punching in requirements and cursing under his breath.

♦♦♦

Sulu arrived on time, PADD in hand. Before he had a chance to get out an appropriate greeting, Doctor McCoy growled at him, “Lunch first. Talk about the weather.”

Once again human behavior left Spock at a loss. Instinctively, he turned to Jim, who shrugged. “Bones is a Southern gentleman,” Jim quipped. “No politics, no religion, no sex at the table.” But the peacefulness he projected clumsily at Spock was at odds with his impudent grin.

They sat down. “The storms on Arrakis are indeed interesting,” Spock remarked obediently after staring at his salad for a long moment, taking in that Doctor McCoy obviously considered his caloric intake insufficient, as this version of vranto salad contained cheese and nuts beyond his preferred mixture of lettuces and herbs. “A simplistic hypothesis proposes the storms are only an accumulation of multiple vortices, which can be explained with the turning of the wind vectors by planetary rotation. However, I believe that beyond Coriolis forces several other factors are involved in the formation of the storms. For example the almost constant temperature difference of 27° C as an annual mean between the equator and the poles, as well as the B-class planetary rotation, which breaks up the circulation of the climate into cyclones and anticyclones. Additionally, the excess of ozone needs to be taken into account. It creates a heat barrier, which intensifies the severity of storms …”

Sulu’s carefully neutral face and his artificial preoccupation with his soup alerted Spock to the fact that he had once again erred in the correct approach to casual inter-species communication. Doctor McCoy was even more transparent with his wide-eyed stare and twitching lips.

Jim laughed. “One day, Bones will learn how to communicate with Vulcans …”

Jim turned from his bowl of what Spock identified as chili con carne and pressed a quick kiss below Spock’s right earlobe, leaving behind a sting of spices and a peculiar mixture of discomfort and … Spock did not manage to control an immediate physical response to the stimulus; he shivered. A reaction most unbecoming a Vulcan. But when he cast a quick look at Doctor McCoy, the man just smiled. Another glance told him Jim’s overtures did not seem to have perturbed Lieutenant Sulu. Of course there was no logical reason for him to assume that would be the case. Most likely his uneasiness was just an effect of the new Bond.

“Actually,” Jim said thoughtfully, “with those giant vortices of over seven thousand kilometers in diameter, layered on top of each other and absorbing all energy within their zone of influence, down to the electric impulses of pre-spice mass, you end up with one hell of an energy overhead. All that power has to go somewhere. In a real bad storm, wouldn’t it simply zap the heat barrier as such? Like, effectively overturn the atmosphere in places?”

Doctor McCoy shuddered, completely ignoring the keen meteorological insights Jim had so casually offered. “Those storms flatten you with seven hundred kilometers an hour, and they are loaded with dust and sand like damn grinding machines. First they eat the flesh off your bones. And then they clean them right up and wear them down into kindling. This planet is a killer,” he declared, “and when it’s done with you, the sandworms will dance on your corpses.”

“Bones, I don’t think sandworms know about tango,” Jim said. “But thank you for playing, anyway.” He pushed away his bowl. Spock noticed with concern that he had not consumed half the contents. This was unprecedented and worrisome. Aware of his own nutritional needs after the past days, Spock welcomed the big bowl of hearty vegetable stew the doctor placed in front of him as a main course and traded an alarmed glance with McCoy when Jim faced his steak with reluctance. Only when he stabbed a few chips with relish, Spock relaxed.

“Now, Hikaru,” Jim ordered and stole a piece of vegetable from Spock’s bowl, an action Spock found illogically pleasing. He perceived and promptly ignored the urge to dip his spoon into the bowl and feed Jim. “Tell us what’s up with the ship,” Jim requested. With a wry look at Doctor McCoy and a crooked grin, he added, “As much as you’re allowed to tell us, that is.”

Sulu smiled slightly as he finished the dish of grilled meat and vegetables of his main course. “I think I am permitted to tell you that the ship has so far neither exploded nor imploded.”

Jim laughed. “I’d never have guessed.” Then he stared in disbelief at McCoy as the doctor placed a bowl with replicated chocolate pudding in front of him. “Since when do I rate a dessert?”

“Since you lost even more weight.” McCoy scowled at Jim.

Spock experienced an unreasonable surge of anger at the doctor taking such an intimate interest in Jim’s diet. He quenched the impulse. The reaction was irrational, illogical … out of character. He analyzed the emotion and was not surprised to find a connection with the primal needs and instincts associated with the Bond. Turning his attention back to the present, he found himself the object of subtle scrutiny by Doctor McCoy. Obviously, the doctor was more familiar with the intricacies of Vulcan mating behavior than he’d let on – and he was testing Spock’s limits.

Spock raised an eyebrow at McCoy. Forking up a piece of gespar pudding with soltar fruit, he offered Jim a taste. The way Jim ducked his head and smiled at him while accepting the food soothed Spock and filled him with strange warmth. The sensation was reinforced by a sense of amused acceptance in his mind. Clearly, Jim had realized what was going on as well.

Only when McCoy had cleared away the dessert plates and they had cups of coffee and tea in front of them, Sulu finally switched on his PADD.

“We’ve finalized trade agreements with the Fremen and the smugglers three days ago,” Sulu announced with satisfaction. “It went pretty much the way Commander Paul predicted. Pergium and a trading license covering all Federation starbases for the Arrakis Trade Union in return for their facilitating Spice trade with the Fremen and transporting Spice deliveries to the nearest starbase. The Fremen get our assistance with an application to the Federation Council for terraforming procedures on Arrakis. We’ll be staying another month for a preliminary surveillance.” Sulu looked up from the PADD. “Since both Vulcan High Council and United Earth Government have already agreed to render all relevant support provided climate, flora, and fauna of Arrakis are not irrevocably damaged, the petition to the Federation Council is just a formality. The condition imposed on the terraforming plans will prove a challenge for generations of scientists, and no doubt lead to some disappointment for the Fremen. But thankfully that’s not our problem.” Sulu scrolled down the PADD, then flipped to another screen. “We expect to get the formal confirmation from Starfleet Command in ten days.”

“Well done,” Jim said, nodding. “I had a good feeling about it all from the beginning. Halleck’s a real character, but not a bad guy. And the Fremen are quality people. What else are you allowed to tell us?”

Sulu glanced at McCoy as if to confirm a prior agreement. McCoy’s reaction was his customary scowl, which naturally elicited a frown from Jim. “Sybok finally made progress with Thorby.”

At that Jim surged up in his chair and leaned forward. “Did he get the data?”

Sulu inhaled and tensed. Spock was unable to tamp down a similar reaction. Thorbehrak’s plight and his open resistance to traditional Vulcan ways left him conflicted. Spock found his emotional response to the situation both unsatisfactory and disturbing. It would be beneficial to devote a meditation to the issue, perhaps even to talk to Sybok about it – unpleasant though the notion was. He started at a soft touch. Jim’s hand on his arm, fingertips only, bright hazel eyes promising questions later, frustration etched around his mouth.

“Could he extract the information from Thorby’s mind, Mister Sulu?” Jim asked, tense, emphasizing the formal address. But he didn’t remove his hand from Spock. And Spock found he did not want him to.

“Yes,” Sulu said. “Details will have to wait, Captain.” He met Jim’s annoyed gaze steadily. Spock approved, even though like the captain, he would have preferred a thorough explanation at once. Sulu went on, “I can assure you that details really can wait. As it turns out a part of the problem was the sheer amount of data stored away in the kid’s mind. Baslim was desperate. He had Thorby memorize years’ worth of data. A human mind would have been fried, and apparently even Vulcan minds have limits. Commander Paul asked me to inform you it will take weeks to analyze the data, and that there’s nothing else we can do at this point. Sybok will continue working with Thorby while we’re here. Commander Paul hopes that Sybok will enable Thorby to access all of his memories again. He would be an invaluable eye witness.” Sulu looked pale, his thoughts obviously straying to just what the child must have experienced.

“That may prove impossible,” Spock said, although he appreciated his brother’s willingness to attempt healing the broken mind of the boy. “If a trauma is intense enough, the Vulcan brain can excise any related memories to ensure its continued functioning. What has been removed cannot be restored.”

McCoy stared at him in shock. “That sounds as if you’re saying you can lobotomize yourself!”

Spock inclined his head. “Crudely put, yes.”

Jim drew back. The moment he removed his hand, Spock could feel him trembling. At the same time, Spock sensed a change in their connection: Jim was scared. A most uncomfortable experience, close to the threshold of physical pain. Spock was at a loss of how to react. He wanted to reach out – wanted to restore the connection – fear – helplessness – how to control himself—

Somehow his face or posture must have betrayed him.

“Shit,” Jim murmured. He got to his feet and moved behind Spock. Before Spock could protest conduct that was unbecoming of two senior Starfleet officers in public, Jim put his hands on Spock’s shoulders. With an awkward burst of pure emotion, Jim pushed the Bond between them wide open. Fear and horror, old and new, touched his mind, but also enough warmth that the pervasive awareness of ambient temperatures always a few degrees too cold for comfort that Spock was so used to faded.

“Are you always that cold?” At his back Spock sensed the motion of Jim shaking his head. “Sorry, Sulu. We’re kind of still getting the hang of things here.” Jim inhaled deeply, issuing a sound that Spock classified as a sigh, but Jim didn’t move away. Instead, he calmly addressed Sulu, continuing their conversation. “Well, that’s good news, Sulu. What else? How are you enjoying your time in the center chair? Any problems with the crew?”

“As a matter of fact,” Sulu said, diplomatically choosing not to reply to the second question, “there has been an incident that has warranted a minor reprimand for a few crew members.”

Jim groaned and returned to his seat, only to reach out again and rest a hand on Spock’s thigh. Strangely, his touch was … pleasant. Instead of challenging Spock’s emotional control, it seemed to steady his mind. Once more, Spock was forced to acknowledge how rudimentary his understanding of all facets of the Bond still was, and how beneficial the doctor’s decision was to force an extended medical leave on them, with limited social and official interactions.

“What happened?” Jim asked. “Another pub brawl?”

“Four crew members got drunk on shore leave and subsequently had to be physically retrieved from the pool.” Lieutenant Sulu’s face betrayed amusement rather than annoyance over conduct unbecoming.

Next to him, Jim snorted. “Who was it? Let me guess. Scotty and some of his buddies got wasted and decided to use Keenser as a water ball?”

Sulu snorted, and for some reason Doctor McCoy flushed. “Not this time. It seems Lieutenant Gaila, Lieutenant Amell, Lieutenant Paul and Ensign Canningham had a girls’ night out. Apparently, they were pretty tipsy when they got back and decided that skinny-dipping in the pool would be the perfect end for their shared shore leave.”

“Hot damn!” Jim exclaimed. “That’s tons better than a pub brawl. Who were the lucky guys to break up the pool party?”

Doctor McCoy fidgeted in his seat. Once again Spock failed to understand human humor and discomfiture. He said as much. “I fail to perceive what is so amusing at four officers endangering their lives and acting in a way that is unbecoming Starfleet personnel. Or why the crew members who had to intervene should be considered ‘lucky’.”

Jim leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Oh my god, Spock,” he gasped, “you’re killing me over here – idiom, Spock. Just a phrase.” Catching his breath, he chuckled again. “It’s amusing because I doubt the girls were in any serious danger or seriously embarrassing Starfleet. And whoever got to pull them out of the pool is a lucky guy because …”

“Jim,” McCoy interrupted him sharply. His ears and neck had acquired an astonishingly deep ruddy complexion. Spock could not recall witnessing a similar physical reaction in the doctor before.

But Jim only burst out laughing again. “What?! Bones, you were one of the lucky guys? Hot damn, man. Way to go. So which damsel in distress did you get to save, Prince Charming?”

When McCoy glowered at Jim instead of answering his question, Sulu turned to Spock. “Jim is right Spock,” he explained patiently. “It was not a dangerous situation or threatening crew morale or the standing of Starfleet or anything like that. And well, for many men it’s not a hardship to drag a pretty, naked woman out of a pool …”

“Oh, I don’t know, Sulu,” Jim sniggered. “I can totally imagine how that might turn into a hardship …”

“JIM!” McCoy snarled.

Jim rolled his eyes. “Bones, I’m married. I haven’t joined a monastery.” Before Spock could correct him, Jim added, “Spock, it’s just colloquial expressions. Also, you know Bones knows better.” He glanced at Sulu with a smile. “And since Bones briefed Sulu before lunch, Sulu has all the facts, too.”

“Doctor McCoy thinks it’s time to wrap up this lunch now,” McCoy announced with a scowl. “And since he happens to be CMO on this ship, his will shall be done.”

Jim sighed but offered no argument. Spock for his part would have preferred to review the ship’s log in detail to discuss the details of Lieutenant Sulu’s first longer period as acting captain but also kept silent as such an activity could not rationally be reconciled with the sensible restrictions of medical leave imposed on them.

They rose to their feet. “Thank you, Hikaru,” Jim said and held out his hand to Sulu. “Thank you for taking care of the Enterprise. I’m sorry we got you stuck with the conn.” He smiled wryly. “And thank you for putting up with us for lunch.”

“I won’t lie, I’d much rather have the two of you in charge, Captain. But Leslie and I are getting there.” He nodded respectfully to Spock, before turning back to Jim. “Also, in terms of emergencies, I don’t think they get much more pleasant than this one.” Sulu smiled. “Congratulations, Captain, Mr. Spock. On behalf of all bridge teams.”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.253, 1600 hours, Deck 5, First Officer’s Cabin

Jim sat cross-legged on the couch, cradling a cup of peppermint tea and enjoying the buzz of yet another hypo that was supposed to help with his sore muscles. On the other side of the coffee table, Spock sat on his meditation stone, perfectly centered, his expression peaceful. A hint of harmony flowed through their connection, and Jim wondered if he might actually make progress with his own attempts at meditation now.

Jim inhaled the refreshing scent of mind and considered the day so far.

He couldn’t help grinning. They’d had their morning after talk and some pretty awesome morning after sex. Of course there was also that bit about Vulcan emotions, and they’d need to discuss that some more with Sybok and M’Benga and Bones. There were all the things Spock didn’t know, not just because he’d never done that before but because there was always the possibility that his human heritage changed things for him.

Lunch. Okay, so Bones was right. They really needed to be on medical leave for now. Sure, it had been mostly little things. The effects and limitations of the Bond. Like, Jim was pretty sure he couldn’t eat meat anymore. At least that was a theory easily tested. But he also found he wanted to give in to the small urges that apparently came with the territory. Sharing food and touches in ways that went beyond standard human behavior for newly-weds in a professional situation. M’Benga and Sybok seemed sure that every little bit would help with pon farr later on. Spock hadn’t disagreed, although the whole thing made him crazy uncomfortable. So, yeah, he could see the benefits of staying off duty for a while longer.

Spock blinked, his face coming alive as the serenity of meditation faded into a mellow expression. “Jim.”

“Hey.” Jim knelt in front of him. “Want some tea? I could do with a second cup.” How strange it was just to spend time together. He hadn’t expected how not doing anything much, even if they did it together, could be so … nice.

“Tea would be pleasant,” Spock agreed. “Perhaps we might also talk about whom to inform concerning the changed status of our relationship beyond the administrative requirements imposed on us by Starfleet.”

“Oh yeah.” Jim smiled. “So you think we can tell older you? We have to tell Sarek.”

Spock inclined his head, his complexion tinged a little greener than before. Jim attempted to focus on the presence in his mind. “Jim …”

“No, Spock, let me try. I get why you think we should wait with more serious experiments. But I need to practice. So let me feel you. Come on. Open up.”

With a sigh, Spock offered up his hands. “This will help.”

“Or distract me into sex,” Jim muttered but took Spock’s hands anyway.

Spock raised an eyebrow and relaxed into his touch. “If you desire practice, I shall oblige.”

Jim laughed and closed his eyes to concentrate on what Spock allowed to transfer. “You … like that I like older-you. But … you’re not sure you like yourself. Why ever not? You’re both kind of awesome. And …” He opened his eyes again. “Hey …” Concerned, he leaned forward to kiss Spock. “I’m right here. We don’t even know if they had what we have.”

Spock just looked at him. Jim held on to him tightly, hands and mind. “If there’s such a thing as universal constants, this would be the one I’d choose, too,” Jim whispered. “And yeah, we could probably find out right away if you dug around in that part of my mind. But …”

“… we should respect his privacy and wait until we can ask him in person,” Spock finished the sentence. “I agree.”

“But we can send him a message about us, at least.” Jim frowned. “Also, you’re still not warm enough. Look, that’s stupid. I can wear shorts and a t-shirt in here no problem. Computer, raise temperature another ten. My feel-good temp may be lower than yours, Spock, but I hate being cold about as much as you do.” He wondered if Spock would agree to try out the sauna in the spa area with him. Since they were not allowed to return to Dune, that would be a good alternative to warm the Vulcan up. Or perhaps a desert scenario in the holo-deck … One day he’d like to do some sightseeing on Vulcan-that-was, but they were not ready for that yet. Right. Vulcan. “A message to Sarek, too. Anyone else?”

Spock nodded. “My mother’s sister, Doris Grayson, and my cousins. Jemima or ‘Jimmy’ – she still prefers the humorous diminutive to her proper name for what she tells me are illogical human reasons that I simply have to accept if I expect her to answer when I address her – and Lester.”

“So that wasn’t just a metaphor, about Earth being the only home you have left? You have real family back there?” It was illogical to feel that pleased about such a sentiment – pleased, too, about Jim’s ready pleasure at his discovery— “Not illogical at all, Spock, and whoa, I got that almost as clearly as if you said it out loud. Cool. Sure you haven’t uh… flicked that switch in my mind there?”

“No, I haven’t attempted that yet. Nor will I until I am certain we can cope with the connection such as it is,” Spock replied firmly. “But yes, I have human relatives in Seattle with whom I enjoy cordial relations. My mother’s sister, Doris, works with a publishing company. Lester is three years older than I am. He and his partner Mark are lawyers. Jimmy is a year younger than you are. Now that the Spice trade is secured, I believe she will move to New Vulcan to aid the colony.”

“Wow.” Jim pondered the ramifications of Spice, the Vulcan Genome Registry, and Human surrogate mothers. “How’s that even going to work? All those emotional human women, and then all those new babies?”

“I do not know,” Spock said. “It has never been tried before. I believe every effort will be made to form stable familial structures, which will by necessity be polygynous in most cases. How the conflict between a strategic rebuilding of the Vulcan gene pool and the tenets of infinite diversity will be resolved, I cannot tell at this stage. My counterpart is involved in the program, as he is aware of what some individuals achieved in his universe, who will never be born now if nature is left to run its course. Naturally, there is not much information at this stage. I do know that there is an agreement between my father and my cousin.”

“Huh.” Jim blinked. “That must be odd, and difficult.”

Painful, too. He stood and drew Spock up to his feet as well. “C’mon. Tea and cuddling. The doctors said so.”

They ended up on the couch, touching as much of each other’s body as possible while still drinking tea and eating lirs cookies. “So how about you?” Jim asked after a while. “When we’re done with this mission, do you want us to go to New Vulcan and do the family thing? I’m sure they must be after you about that, since you’re a hero and all.”

The shock that crashed through their connection tasted of pain and humiliation, and faintly, very faintly, of hope. “Jim, no. I am a symbol, not a hero,” Spock said softly. “I may be the personification of IDIC. I am the product of my parents’ mutual affection, certainly. But no more. My DNA has never been filed with the Vulcan Genome Registry. Instead, you will find it in the databases of the Vulcan Science Academy. There is even the Vulcan equivalent of a trademark, if you want to look it up. And for the foreseeable future, the VSA will not have any interest in perpetuating hybrid genetic material. It is only logical.” He raised a hand to touch Jim’s meld points in a gentle caress. “Do not be angry or hurt on my behalf.”

Jim shook his head and captured Spock’s hand in a firm grip. “That’s part of my job description. So don’t even start. And yeah, I do get how creating viable hybrids can’t be a priority now. Also, I am not keen on sharing you with another adult …” Except your older self, he thought. Only I don’t think you’d like that much. Either of you.

“Nor I, you,” Spock said. “Illogical though that may be, I do not wish to share you even with myself. Although it moves me how generous you are in your love.”

“… but maybe adoption would be a solution …”

Spock stared at him, wide-eyed. “I am at a loss what to say,” he confessed. “I … a family of my own is nothing I have ever considered before. And I assumed that you – your—”

“That my first and best destiny is to be a starship captain?” Jim smiled. “Yeah, your older version told me that, too. But remember what you said, when we first discussed all of that parallel universe and alternate timeline shit during the Nero thing? I think it went something like this: ‘Whatever lives we might have lived have now been permanently altered. Our destinies, whatever they were, have changed.’”

“You possess eidetic memory.”

“I know. So do you. But? Point is, even if we ignore the differences that extend far beyond Nero’s influence and the fact how people can change, even if that is my first and best destiny, who’s to say I don’t have a really awesome second or even third destiny? Bones tells me my life expectation isn’t what it used to be. With a bit of luck I’ll be around a lot longer than my counterpart. So I don’t see why we shouldn’t take a couple of years after this mission and give that family thing a go. If we want to, that is.” Jim wondered when he’d started wanting that for himself because he sure as hell hadn’t anything to build on in terms of family relations. Though maybe that would change. “Have I told you my brother’s moving to New Vulcan?”

Spock shook his head. “I was not aware that you are in contact with your brother.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t. He sent a message while I was in hospital. Apparently having your baby brother come back from the dead makes you rethink some stuff.” Jim shrugged and didn’t attempt to stop his bitterness from reaching out to Spock. “Anyway, he’s a research biologist. His wife, Aurelan, too. Currently they are on Deneva. But it’s not living up to the job description. As in, it’s just not interesting enough for them. They’ve got a kid, Peter. He’s … eight or nine I think.” Jim frowned. “Aurelan’s always wanted siblings for him, but I guess there are issues. I wouldn’t be surprised if she joins the surrogate scheme.” Suddenly Jim laughed. “I’m trying to imagine that. All our families on New Vulcan, twenty years from now.”

“Human imagination is remarkably fanciful,” Spock said dryly. “Fascinating.”

“Yup,” Jim agreed easily. “That’s me. Fanciful and fascinating. So how about we compose the message to old you first? Then we can write to your human relatives and to my brother. And when we’re in the groove, we’ll do Sarek. Errr… I mean, we will let him know that his youngest kid has gotten hitched with a Human. You know, all polite and formal and Vulcan.”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.294, 2000 hours, New Vulcan

Spock stayed with his father in a moderately sized house at the outskirts of New ShiKahr. It was a practical, logical arrangement for two old men with busy lives and few needs. Additionally, Sarek was absent for months at a time He was still the Vulcan ambassador to Earth and stayed there for the better part of the Terran year. New Vulcan was more than a little out of the way, an arid planet close to the Gorn Hegemony. Even with one of the new warp nine capable vessels, the trip took more than a month. In consequence, Spock was alone more often than not. It mattered little; it was better that way; he could not, should not belong. And if the idea of isolation as penitence was illogical, the idea of work as act of contrition was only logical. What was left of his life belonged to what remained of his people.

Yet his existence was not without joy. Knowing the generosity of spirit that seemed essential to Jim Kirk in any universe, perhaps it should not have come as such a surprise when this precious, young version of his t’hy’la wanted to be his friend. That his younger self made cautious overtures of friendship as well was a shock, he had not been prepared for.

Out of isolation, grief and guilt, his new life took form and acquired rhythm in long days of patient labor punctuated by a cadence of comm unit chimes. At first, thanks to the widespread subspace relays in Federation space, he heard from them once or twice a week. Lately, their messages had become more infrequent as the Enterprise moved farther and farther from Federation space. He knew that soon the messages would most likely cease as distance of space and mind inevitably grew too great to bridge.

He could see that, hear that, read that in every message, in those oblique references to incidents they could not discuss. Whatever had happened to the Enterprise since she left Federation space, it affected them both. They were growing older before his eyes, from one irregular video message to the next.

Jim’s death had erased the smiling softness of youth from his face. To see growing experience and innate resilience marking Jim’s face now instead of the terrible blankness of trauma was comfort Spock did not deserve. To soothe the haunted expression in Jim’s eyes now that he was far away was solace Spock was not entitled or able to provide. Yet he ached for Jim.

To watch the rawness in his younger self’s features fade as a measure of peace and warmth returned to his gaze was hope Spock was not worthy of. To ease the fears and turmoils of his youth he dared not, could not. Yet he could not suppress the self-serving desire to succor the longing he saw in his own eyes.

He never gave in to those impulses. Yet he always waited for the next message. The last missive had arrived nine days ago. They entered an orbit around Arrakis and would finally meet with Sybok. Based on the previous rhythm of subspace transmissions from the Enterprise it was not illogical to expect another message at this point. It was, however, illogical to long for it.

Spock went through the motions of his routine; working in whatever capacity his assistance was most beneficial on any given day, meditating many hours, sleeping little. Sybok was never evil, merely misguided. Perhaps he was even right. Here, now, nothing is as it was. The time frame, the location, the situation – and even in his universe, the outcome of that encounter had been fortunate in the end. And yet …

Tonight he returned home after a long session discussing the details of the repopulation program. Most of the men and women who had contributed to the achievements of Vulcan in his own universe were gone, and with them uncountable works of art and music and science. If and how the genetic material preserved in the Vulcan Genome Registry should be used in the effort to stabilize the Vulcan population was the most contentious topic on the agenda of the Vulcan feretaya these days. Spock was inordinately grateful his true identity was known only to so few. He could barely live with the part he had played in the end of Romulus and the destruction of Vulcan. To endure any responsibility for who would be born on New Vulcan in the future was unthinkable.

Wearily Spock sat down on the chaiselongue in front of the comm unit. Still no message.

Only with the strictest mental discipline, he was able to subdue the terrible terror that lurked in his mind. Just like in those endless months after his t’hy’la’s disappearance, his mind was helplessly adrift. Forty-six days ago, a strange dream had disturbed his sleep. Thanks to his half-human heritage, Spock could dream but rarely did. Normally, Vulcan meditation and mind control techniques eliminated his physical and psychological need for dreams. But forty-six days ago he had dreamed – for the first time since his Jim had vanished, in another universe, in another life, never to return to him alive. Spock had dreamed of the worldship they had discovered during their first mission … and of the distant glow of an energy ribbon in the very heart of darkness … From afar, he heard once more the last words that Scarlet – the worldship’s steward and a being capable of controlling the universe – offered him: “You are the fixed point of the stories. The stories could not move, without you.” But Spock was lost; had been lost for ninety-six years now; loss was the only fixture in the universe, and the stories that had moved with him had only led to more loss. How much better, if not beneficial, it would be to finally fade into nothing more than a painful footnote of history.

But tomorrow he was expected back at the new Vulcan Science Academy, at the hearing of the feretaya. And today he could sit for a while yet and wait for another message. He was too weary even for meditation …

The clang of the comm unit roused him. With a shaking hand, he pushed the button to accept the call. A subspace video message – from the Enterprise! A second later, Spock found himself staring at the faces of a young Jim Kirk and a young Spock, sitting on the sofa in Spock’s cabin, under the tapestry his mother had woven long ago, in this and another universe. Jim’s hazel eyes were even more brilliant than he recalled, and his smile radiant. His younger self’s expression was … Spock’s aged heart stuttered. Could he ever have looked that vulnerable, that happy? As if on cue, the two young men raised joined hands to the camera. Together they recited a poem that did not even exist in this universe:

“We are star-met
We are joined
We are blessed
We who have found each other
We are the dream of the ages
We are the hope, the desire
We are love.”

“Old friend,” Jim said, still smiling, “I know, it’s been a while since one of us contacted you last. But much has happened. As you can see, we are Bonded now, my Spock and I. Sybok has overseen the process. He says the Bond is very strong. We’re still getting used to the details of it. Bones has put us on sick leave for a whole month just in case.” He rolled his eyes. “When you get this message, we will be back on the bridge and warping to the Black Cluster. Sybok and his healers should be well on their way to New Vulcan by then. He can tell you and Sarek all about our Bonding when he gets to you.” Jim inhaled and gazed tenderly at his partner before he went on, “I remember how you read that poem to me when I didn’t want to believe there is such a thing as Vulcan love poetry. I hope you don’t mind that we have appropriated it for our official messages to family and friends. But we both feel it is the perfect expression for what we are to one another. Nemaiyo, Spock.” He leaned back a little.

Now his younger incarnation focused intensely on the camera, an almost-smile softening his mouth, his eyes warm with love. “It is as Jim says – zhitlar t’du, kudaya t’etek. Your words are our blessing. And today I find that I do not mind offering you an entirely self-serving goodbye: Dif-tor heh smusma, Spokh.” He raised his hand in the ta’al.

Smiling, Jim echoed the gesture. “Live long and prosper, old friend.”

The transmission ended. Spock sat motionless, stunned, overwhelmed with emotions too intense for him to process, much less express … and with a mystery he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. While it was true that he had written that love poem, he had never shared it with Jim, in any universe – and had always regretted his lack of emotional courage.

♦♦♦

“We are star-met
We are joined
We are blessed
We who have found each other
We are the dream of the ages
We are the hope, the desire
We are love.”
– Leonard Nimoy, A Lifetime of Love, Poems on the Passages of Life

♦♦♦♦♦♦

---

 

Author’s Notes

• The passages about the storms on Arrakis follow the canon of “Dune” by Frank Herbert.

• The Vulcan Genome Registry is canon. If Spock’s DNA was ever registered I do not know.

• Jimmy and Lester are semi-canon from the tie-in novel “Planet of Judgment” by Joe Haldeman. I took the liberty of turning Jimmy into Jemima for my own nefarious purposes.

• “You are the fixed point of the stories. The stories could not move, without you.” is a quote from “Enterprise: The First Adventure” by Vonda N. McIntyre